


Beyond the Fence

by tomatopudding



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Historical, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1940 in a small farming village on the eastern edge of Linz, Austria. Gregor has always been curious about what there is on the other side of the fence. When he finds out, a series of events will be put in motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Fence

Gregor’s mother had always warned him about wandering beyond the fence. 

“There is nothing there for you to see, _mein liebling_ ,” she would tell him in lilting German, one hand stroking idly through his hair while the other cupped a cheek firmly enough to show that she was serious, but not enough to cause any pain.

“Promise me you will not go beyond the fence.”

“Yes, Mama,” Gregor had agreed, blue eyes wide with eight year old sincerity.

He had kept his promise for a time, content to only gaze at the tall fence from his bedroom window, wondering what could be out there beyond the confines of the family farm.

“That’s where they keep them,” Gregor’s friend Rolf told him conspiratorially when Gregor relayed his thoughts.

“Who?”

Rolf’s eyes widened considerably as if he didn’t believe that Gregor didn’t know such things, but his voice was full of the smugness of someone who brags about their knowledge, “Those who do not belong. Those who will not help further the glory of our Führer. Fritz says--”

It was all Gregor could do not to roll his eyes. Ever since Rolf had joined the Nazi Youth organization, he had become completely obsessed with everything the chapter leader had to say. At first it had been “Herr Hummel says” this and “Herr Hummel says” that, but lately Herr Hummel had been upgraded to Fritz. Gregor tried to tell himself that he wasn’t jealous of all the attention the boy he looked up to gave to Fritz Hummel, but he knew that was a lie. 

Gregor wasn’t a member of the youth group - his mother wouldn’t let him and his father didn’t pay enough attention to him to notice - but he saw them sometimes wearing their brown uniforms. All of them had blue eyes of varying shades, some with brown hair like Gregor and some blonde like Rolf.

He heard things, of course, whispers around town about what was happening in Berlin, stories about Adolf Hitler, the man who shouted things at them through the television. Nobody noticed the boy who carried his mother’s shopping in a plain burlap bag and so their mouths ran freely. When they did see him, the women would smile and ask after his mother and the men would nod and ruffle his hair and congratulate him on the work his father was doing for the war effort.

Nobody ever mentioned the fence and what might be on the other side.

The first time Gregor dared to disobey his mother’s orders, he made it all the way down to the fence before scampering back to the house.

The second time, Gregor actually touched the fence before he lost his nerve.

The fourth time, Gregor found a hole in the fence just large enough for an eight year old boy to slip through.

The seventh time, Gregor stepped through to the other side of the fence.

It was a large open area, completely devoid of all life except the yellowing grass that scratched Gregor’s ankles. After a few meters, the terrain became rocky and sloped upwards into hills. From the top of the tallest hill, Gregor saw a dense woods stretching as far as he could see.

\--------------------

One day, when his mother went to do some work in the front garden, Gregor wrapped some food in a clean cloth and snuck out to the fence. He tied the corners of the cloth together to make a small bundle and held the knot between his teeth as he wriggled through the hole. This wasn’t his first time doing such things and he had a particular spot on the first hill where he always sat to eat, usually watching the tree line. He had the feeling that he was searching for something, but didn’t know what.

On that day, he did.

A figure on hands and knees crawled from within the thick trees. The figure didn’t make it very far before collapsing to the ground. Gregor sat in stunned silence for a moment before he leapt into action, leaving his food where it was a sprinting down to the tree line.

It was a boy who looked to be two years younger than Gregor, dressed in the dirtiest, rattiest, most colorless clothes he had ever seen. At first, Gregor didn’t know if the boy was even alive until his eyes opened slightly, revealing glassy brown irises and pupils blown wide.

“Hello,” Gregor said.

The boy blinked at him lethargically, mouth moving as if he wanted to reply, although no sound emerged. Gregor inched forward, ignoring the way the other boy flinched. He opened the canteen on his belt and held the opening to the boy’s lips. The boy’s lank brown hair was unkempt and flopped in his face as he drank greedily.

Once he had finished, Gregor began to help him to his feet.

“Come,” he said, “I have some food there on the hill. My name is Gregor.”

They began to walk, slowly and carefully.

“Yakov,” the boy replied, limping along gingerly.

“That’s an interesting name. Is it Polish?”

Yakov did not answer, keeping his eyes downcast until they finally arrived on the hill. Gregor was glad to see that the food he left was untouched by animals. He gave Yakov the remaining bread and cheese as well as one sweet cake. When he saw how quickly the dirty boy scarfed down what he was given, Gregor handed over the second cake as well.

The two boys sat in silence that wasn’t at all uncomfortable despite the way they had come to find each other.

“Gregor!”

Gregor looked up sharply at the sound of his name and saw his mother stalking her way up the hill, skirt hoisted almost to her knees.

“How many times have I told you - _mein Gott!_ ”

She noticed Yakov, sitting like a shadow at Gregor’s side, trembling fearfully.

“Poor thing,” she crooned, “So skinny. Where are your parents?”

Yakov’s sudden sobs, devoid of tears but heartbreaking none the less, told her all she needed to know.

“There there, _mein schatz_ ,” she soothed, pulling him into a tight embrace, “No more crying. We will take care of you, yes?”

At his shaky nod, she held the boy out at arms length and studied him intently. Something, however, gave her pause. Gregor frowned as he turned his attention to Yakov and froze. Pinned to his narrow chest, more brown then yellow, but completely unmistakable, was a star with one word printed across it: _Juden_.

Rolf’s voice echoed in Gregor’s head. Those who do not belong. He remembered Herr Hummel’s words when he first tried to recruit him and Rolf, the way that Rolf’s eyes had shone when Hummel mentioned that they would be helping with the eradication of the _schmutzig Jüdischen schweine_ \- dirty Jewish pigs.

Gregor also remembered the questions that had weighted his tongue, but he had never released their pressure. Why were they dirty? What made them different? Why should we destroy them? He hadn’t dared to ask such things for fear that Rolf would think him to be stupid or that Herr Hummel would assume that Gregor himself was _Jüdischen schweine_.

“You will be safe with us,” Gregor’s mother told the frightened Jewish boy in her arms.

Her eyes were fierce, glittering like dangerous opals when she turned them on her son.

“ _Liebling_ , do not listen to what they tell you in school about these people. They do not deserve the treatment they receive from our glorious Führer,” she spat out the title like a curse.

“Yes, Mama,” Gregor agreed.

“Come,” she bundled Yakov under her arm, “We must go now and hide him before your father returns.”

Gregor nodded and the three began to walk.

“ _Dankë_ ,” Yakov murmured, “ _Dankë_.”

He was still afraid, Gregor could see that. Worried that they would turn him in despite their words. Feeling an overwhelming sense of protectiveness for this frightened Jewish boy, Gregor reached out and took Yakov’s bony hand in his own, feeling the tremors slowly cease the longer they walked.

Gregor was loathe to release Yakov’s hand and only did so when they had to crawl through the gap in the fence. He was thankful that their yard was hidden from view of the road as they snuck Yakov into the house.

“There is the hidden space in the back of your closet,” Gregor’s mother commanded him.

While she led Yakov to the washroom, Gregor finally and reluctantly let go of the other boy’s hand and practically ran to his room. He knew about the hidden space, of course, and had spent many nights with a book and small light reading until all hours.

His bed had a second mattress tucked underneath its frame, so he dragged it into the secret room. It barely fit through the doorway and sat partially on the wall, but it was fairly soft and definitely clean. He picked out his comfiest set of clothes and brought them to the washroom.

If Yakov looked thin in clothing, he was completely emaciated now. Gregor could count the boy’s ribs where his skin stuck to them. His knobby knees were pulled up to his chest, but his legs were so thin that Gregor could see the concave stomach. Gregor’s mother was cleaning him gently with a sponge, the water that pooled in the tub almost black with dust and grime. She fussed over him, washing his greasy hair with gentle caresses and clipping it short, the same way she cut Gregor’s. As she worked, she spoke in a steady soothing murmur in an unfamiliar language.

“It’s Yiddish,” she informed Gregor when he asked, “The language of the Jewish people. I learned it as a girl.”

“It’s beautiful,” Gregor said, “Will you teach me?”

His mother looked extremely worried for a moment, the emotion gone almost as soon as it had arrived, “Perhaps Yakov can teach you, hmm?” she offered.

“Oh, would you?” Gregor pleaded the other boy. Yakov gave a small uncertain smile in return, the barest flicker of what was probably once a toothy grin. Gregor took this as a yes and smiled back.

“ _Dankë shon_ Frau Färber.”

Gregor’s mother tutted, “None of that formality. It makes me feel old. You must call me Marta, yes? I will protect you. Gregor and I together.”

\--------------------

It turned out that Yakov was nine, a whole year older than Gregor, but his growth was stunted due to malnourishment, a fact that Marta was determined to fix as soon as possible. Yakov still seemed scared, his anxiousness showing clearly on his newly cleaned face. So Gregor once again took him by the hand, like a parent leading a youngster, and made him way down to the kitchen.

This was a daily ritual on the days that Gregor didn’t have school. He would sit on the counter as Marta bustled around washing potatoes or chopping carrots. Gregor’s father had once come home early and found Gregor helping out in a more hands-on way. He had not been amused and had given his son a stern lecture before sending him to bed without supper.

Yakov was too weak to hop up onto the counter, so Gregor sat with him at the table instead. It was almost normal the way Gregor and his mother settled into an easy chatter. Yakov was just beginning to relax somewhat when the clattering of a motorcar was heard from outside. The easy smile fell off of Marta’s face and she quickly ushered Gregor and Yakov towards the stairs.

“I’ll come back soon,” Gregor promised before he shut the door of the secret room, “I promise.”

\---------------------

Over the next few weeks, Marta kept good on her word, sending Gregor upstairs with bits of extra food whenever she could. Gregor didn’t know what was happening while he was at school, but even he could see that there was a definite improvement in Yakov’s health over time.

Every day after school, Gregor would only stay long enough not to arouse suspicion before running home for a different sort of lesson. Yakov was teaching him Yiddish, slowly but surely, and they could now have very brief and simple conversations. Yakov knew some Hebrew, although it was only from prayers, so he was teaching that to Gregor as well. The smiles that lit up Yakov’s face whenever Gregor said something correctly were becoming more and more broad and true, though they still didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The most harrowing days were the ones when Gregor’s father, Herman, was off of work. He would sit at home all day, making it difficult to bring food up to Yakov. The only relief was that he never seemed to notice much of what was going on around him, always pouring over documents typed in hard to read German that was so smashed together that it all looked like one long word.

Things were getting heated in town as talks of the war increased. Rolf was trying harder than ever to recruit Gregor to the Nazi Youth. Gregor had always looked up to Rolf ever since they had met for the wisdom he held by being six whole years older. In this case, however, Gregor’s world was rocked when he realized that Rolf might not always be right. He didn’t dare say anything about it. Rolf was very close to Fritz Hummel and was considered to be the second in command. Gregor saw them marching and practicing their heil, every boy with the dream of joining the Führer’s army.

“You stand out,” Rolf told him, several weeks after Yakov’s arrival, “You are the only boy of your age who is not taking part. It will not look good if the SS come,” he continued, his voice turning stony and almost threatening. 

“I need to go,” Gregor muttered before leaving in a hurry.

Later, Gregor would think about how this hasty retreat had not been the best move to make. At the time, however, he didn’t even think of the connotations.

After that moment, Rolf seemed to be watching him, only looking away when Gregor glanced in his direction.

\--------------------

Gregor’s ninth birthday came on the weekend, a overcast day made glorious by the fact that there was no school. Herman was at some work function, so Gregor was free to spend the day in his room with Yakov. Yakov was far past being uncertain or wary now. Now that he had his strength back, he and Gregor were thick as thieves. Sometimes, however, Yakov would get a sad, faraway look in his eyes, an expression far too old for a boy his age.

It was during one of these pensive moments that Gregor finally asked the question that had been plaguing him for quite some time, “What happened to your family?”

Yakov snapped from his haze and stared at Gregor, his eyes seeming to bore into the other boy’s soul.

“Sorry,” Gregor murmured self consciously as he flushed and looked away. He didn’t expect Yakov to answer, so he was surprised when the other boy began to speak.

“It started on a Friday. I’ll always remember that it was Friday. I was in the yard with my sister, Rachel, at our home in Hamburg. We were playing with something, toy soldiers of something. Mama was in the kitchen and I knew that Papa would be arriving home soon with some special Shabbos treat for us. He always brought us sweets and Mama would get so angry with him,” Yakov smiled, remembering happier times.

“On this day, however, he came home empty handed. ‘Run,’ he said, ‘Prepare and collect your things. They are moving all the Jews to the west quarter of the town. We must get there quickly if we want to find beds.’ There was a moment when we did nothing, but soon we had our essential belongings packed and not a moment too soon. There were soldiers pounding at our door.

“It was a madhouse on the streets. A lot of people were panicking about it, unsure what would happen once we were all corralled like sheep. For a while, things were alright. A month passed for us in the ghetto. It was crowded and my family had to share a single bed. We weren’t given enough to eat and Rachel fell sick. No matter what we said or did, none of the soldiers that guarded the gates would do anything about it.

“She still was not feeling well when we were told one morning to prepare ourselves to leave Hamburg. We packed all of our things,” Yakov gave a humorless chuckle, “We shouldn’t have bothered. They took everything as soon as we arrived. I’m getting ahead of myself. The took us to cattle cars, shoved us in like livestock all squashed together. At least we didn’t fall over when the train began to move.

“We didn’t go very far, at least it didn’t feel like we did. When we stopped, the brought us to a large open area. We were told to leave our things on the train. They began to sort us. Men and those children who looked strong enough to work were put to the side. Women and the rest of the children were taken away. Among those were my mother and sister. I don’t know what happened, but we never saw them again. I was separated from my father and put in the children’s barracks. We weren’t as crowded as in the ghetto, but it still wasn’t very comfortable. Every day was the same. We worked and worked from dawn until dusk, barely getting enough food to eat. Once a week, we got a break and were allowed to spend our time in this one grassy yard, running or talking or just sitting still. 

“We were there for another month. One day, a soldier came. They had us all line up, the men in one row and the children in another, and the soldier walked along the line and picked. Some of the boys who had been there longer had told me about this. It only happened once a month and those who were chosen disappeared. On that day, both my father and I were chosen. It was the first time I was able to see him since we had arrived. They took us far away. We were on the train for a long time. I though maybe that they were setting us free, but I didn’t dare hope. I saw a sign in the new place. It said that it was called Mauthausen-Gusen. 

“While we were there, there was a young soldier who would bring me things. Extra food and blankets, some water during the day. I never found out his name, but he was very nice to me. I think he felt sorry for me. After three months at Mauthausen-Gusen, my father fell ill. I was able to visit him once before he disappeared. My soldier told me that they had taken him to be killed. They had no use for a sick man in the camp.”

Yakov’s words caught in his throat and he was silent for a long time. Gregor said nothing even when the tears began to roll down Yakov’s cheeks.

“He helped me escape, my soldier. Showed me a weak section in the fence, caused a distraction so that I could get away. ‘Go west,’ he told me, pointing towards some trees, ‘Keep going and going and you’ll find the city.’ So, I went. It was farther than I thought I ever could and I was just so tired and hungry. I was going to give up, Gregor,” Yakov continued, turning shining eyes towards the other boy, “If you hadn’t found me...”

He trailed off, bringing his knees to his chest in a protective motion. Gregor couldn’t move, he could barely breath. This was what Rolf was so excited about? This was supposed to be good?

“I will never join them,” Gregor said vehemently, his eyes flashing as they caught Yakov’s, “Never. I would rather die than take part in this.”

They sat in silence together once more.

\--------------------

Yakov couldn’t come downstairs for Gregor’s birthday dinner as both Rolf and Herman would be there. If anyone noticed that Gregor was quieter than usual, they didn’t mention it. When the plates were cleared away, the real conversation began.

“Rolf, I hear you are very important in the youth group here.”

“Yes, Herr Färber,” Rolf agreed with a mild smile, “I am very invested in the cause and am happy to help any way I can.”

“Good, good,” Herman said with a nod, “You have more drive than Gregor here.”

Gregor was surprised to feel his father’s hand fall heavily on his shoulder.

“Not for my lack of trying,” Rolf said with a small chortle.

Gregor was getting slightly annoyed about them talking as if he wasn’t there.

“I aim to fix this, of course,” continued Rolf. He reached below his chair and pulled out a rectangular white box, “Happy birthday, Gregor.”

Gregor gingerly opened the box and his breath caught in his throat as the disgust welled up within him. He would recognize the Nazi Youth uniform anywhere, even if Rolf hadn’t been currently wearing one. He pulled the stiff uniform from its wrapping, noting the swastika already sewn on to the sleeve. He felt ill as he placed it back in the box.

“Excuse me.”

Gregor turned to leave, but his father’s harsh tone gave him pause.

“Gregor.”

“Thank you, Rolf,” Gregor ground out, his back still towards the table. Then, he continued up the stairs at almost a run.

He ignored Herman calling after him.

\--------------------

The news sent a chill down Gregor’s spine. The SS were coming to Linz. Because of this, Herman decided that Gregor would be required to join the Nazi Youth whether he liked it or not. He would not, Herman insisted, be the only father in town who’s son was not part of the cause. Particularly because Herman himself was a part of the armed forces.

The starched material was itchy on Gregor’s skin and his arm prickled underneath the swastika. The drills were monotonous, marching up and down the square, listening to Hilter’s speeches through large speakers and practicing their heil. He hated every second of it.

“You see the good we are doing,” Rolf said to him with a smile and a sparkle in his eye.

“Why are the SS coming here?” Gregor asked.

“I know you’re as excited as I am,” Rolf said, squeezing Gregor’s shoulder, “If you really must know, Fritz and I requested it.”

Gregor’s heart stopped, “What?”

“Yes, I believe we have a hidden Jew in our midst. Don’t tell anyone, but,” Rolf leaned closer and lowered his voice, “Frau Lensherr has been hiding it in her cupboard.”

For a moment, Gregor was relieved that his family wasn’t the one under scrutiny and then he realized what the presence of one hidden Jew could do to the rest of the town.

Gregor ran how as quickly as he could, not noticing Rolf’s narrowed eyes and piercing, suspicious stare.

\--------------------

They arrived two days later with the clamoring sound of several automobiles. Their uniforms were crisp and pressed, their hard-topped hats placed firmly upon their heads. They were more frightening than Gregor ever would have thought. They gave off a frigid air of contempt and the feeling that they knew all of your secrets. Gregor, along with the rest of the Nazi Youth stood at attention in the most public place in town. Rolf was at the other end of the line than Gregor, directly beside Fritz Hummel. The SS soldiers were talking to the two of them, but Gregor couldn’t hear.

“Alright,” Herr Hummel said finally, breaking the line to stand before them, “Everyone is to go home immediately and wait for inspection.”

Gregor’s blood ran cold. Inspection? Everybody? He caught up to Rolf before the older boy could leave.

“I thought you said that Frau Lensherr was the one in trouble,” he said, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

“Of course she is,” Rolf told him, prying Gregor’s hand off of his sleeve, “but this way, everyone will know who’s to blame and what will happen if you keep a filthy beast in your home as if it was a civilized person. Run along home, Gregor, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

Gregor took Rolf’s advice and ran along home, although he was worried almost to the point of panicking.

“Mama! Mama!” he called out when he entered, “The SS, they’re here and they’re coming to search every home and--”

He stopped short as he ran into the front room. His father was there as well, clad in his newly pressed uniform and frowning.

“Really, Gregor, are such hysterics necessary?” Herman scolded, shooting his cuffs smartly, “I know it’s exciting the first time such things happen, but you must endeavor to remain calm when the soldiers are here. And for God’s sake, boy, don’t embarrass me in front of my inferiors.”

Gregor swallowed convulsively and nodded.

“Come, _liebling_ ,” Marta said, beckoning to Gregor, “Come stand by me.”

Gregor did as he was told just as there was a knock on the door.

“Mama,” he whispered urgently, “What about--”

She stopped him with a hard squeeze on his shoulder and Gregor understood. His father had keen hearing and there were soldiers in the house. He just had to ignore that gut wrenching feeling and the desire to run upstairs and hide with Yakov.

The two soldiers and Herman were laughing together as they entered the front room.

“Ah, yes, Herr Hiedelburg, Herr Rudolph, I would like you to meet my beautiful wife Marta and our son Gregor. He is very involved with the Nazi Youth here in our town.”

The two soldiers snapped to attention and threw out perfect heils.

“Heil Hitler!” they intoned in unison.

By the way his father was looking at him, Gregor knew that he was expected to respond in kind and did so, albeit reluctantly.

“Now, I know we are a small place, but searching homes must get very tiring,” Herman said, “Come, come, sit for a while! There’s no need to rush, we have nothing to hide.”

The soldiers tried to simply get on with their search, but Herman wouldn’t let them. He went so far as to threaten to make it an order before they finally conceded. 

“Tea, if you will, Marta, _mein schatz_ ,” Herman requested, “And some of those lemon cakes if we have them. Gregor, come sit with me.”

Gregor had been about to go to the kitchen to help his mother, but instead he sat beside his father, his back stiff and straight.

“Gregor here would like to follow in his father’s footsteps one day,” Herman told Herr Hiedelburg and Herr Rudolph. This was, of course, untrue, but it didn’t seem that Gregor would have any say in the matter, “Come, tell us what it is like working in the most respected branch of the army?”

The following conversation was long and boring for Gregor, so he let his mind wander as the adults talked. He thought of Yakov, all alone in the secret room, and prayed that he wouldn’t be found. Gregor snapped back to reality close to an hour later when the soldiers rose to finally begin their sweep of the house. Before they could set off, however, a knock came at the door.

“Soldiers, come!” shouted a voice, “A Jew has been found, no more searches are necessary.”

It wasn’t Frau Lensherr, as Rolf had predicted, but rather Herr Johansson, one of Gregor’s teachers and the one who had always been the most vehement about his hatred of the Jews. The entire town watched in abject horror as Herr Johansson and a frightened young women were brought to the center of the town. Herr Johansson was screaming obscenities at the soldier and struggling in their grasps. He didn’t stop even when they forced him to his knees.

“Your efforts are futile,” of the SS soldiers told the protesting man, “This _schmutzig Jüdischen schweine_ will be taken away immediately and put in a place that is good for it.”

Gregor knew from his conversations with Yakov that the soldier meant some sort of labor camp. If the woman was lucky, she’d be sent to a women’s camp. If she was unfortunate enough to be sent to a mixed-sex camp, she would probably be sent to the chamber immediately.

“Now, you will know what happens to those who go against the Führer,” the soldier continued, his voice carrying through the whole crowd.

He pulled his Walther P38 pistol from its holster and pressed the weapon against Herr Johansson’s forehead. Gregor turned and buried his face in his mother’s skirts just after the shot echoed out into the air. It was too late, however. The image of his teacher’s brains splattering behind him like water from a hose would haunt Gregor for the rest of his life. There was a sickening thump and then quiet. Herr Johansson’s shouts had been silenced. 

\--------------------

The easy atmosphere that had developed in the Färber household was completely gone. Gregor was more silent than usual and spent a lot of time staring at the wall. Yakov didn’t need to ask what had happened, he had heart the gun go off all the way in his hiding area. When Herman wasn’t home, Yakov would oftentimes just sit with Gregor, offering the silent support of a warm side to lean into.

Marta was also quite shaken by what had happened. Not only because of what her son had been forced to witness, but also what had happened afterwards. She didn’t like the way that Rolf Verraten had been looking at Gregor. A look of triumph and glee in seeing the younger boy’s distress. When Rolf caught Marta’s eye he began to smirk. He knew, Marta realized, at least he suspected about Yakov. She had to do something. 

\--------------------

Gregor found himself quite suddenly awake, the memory of his mother’s kiss tingling against his cheek. In reality, there was the soothing rock of the ship, Yakov curled up beside him, and the vivid image of Herr Johansson’s splattered brains imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. Yakov was mumbling in his sleep, words Gregor had heard before, muffled through the clothes that shielded the hidden room. The words were too slurred to be recognized more than the fact that they were in Yiddish. 

Gregor’s heart finally stopped pounding in his chest and his ears. He felt hyperaware of everything going on around him - the smell of night sweats, the feel of the money tucked into his socks, the taste of sleep drying his tongue with bitterness. He needed air.

Gregor carefully climbed over Yakov’s restlessly sleeping form. The metal floor was cold even through his socks and he quickly slipped on the first pair of shoes he found. They were slightly big on him. Yakov’s shoes, then. It didn’t matter. Gregor knew that Yakov would sleep through the night, soothed by the slow rock of the ship and the knowledge that while he was asleep he couldn’t get seasick. It had not been a fun two days for Yakov.

Gregor made his way up to the top deck, tip toeing through empty, eerie corridors and past silent doors. The chill of pre-dawn pierced his clothes and wrapped cold fingers around his skin making Gregor shiver.

The world had long since slipped away, leaving only the open ocean surrounding them. Like down in the belly of the ship, the top deck was empty, so Gregor got no interruptions as he stepped towards the bow.

The wind was stronger here, biting at his face and turning his cheeks and the tip of his nose pink. There were no fences out here in the ocean, no fences except the one keeping him from falling off the edge.

Gregor liked it out here, despite the cold. He had never realized before how constraining his home had been until he left it. He shuddered now as he remembered his father’s stern stare. 

His father.

Herman must know that Gregor was gone by now. Gregor wondered how he had reacted. Did he yell? Did he cry? Did he even care?

“Don’t worry about your father,” Marta had told him as she ushered Gregor and Yakov onto the train that would take them to the boat, “I will take care of him, _liebling_ , it will be alright.”

He wondered if it was alright. He hoped so. Gregor wrapped his arms around himself and sniffed as the cold made his nose run. There was no use worrying right now. The fences were all behind him, closed tight around his life as Gregor Färber. Ahead of him, across the vast Atlantic Ocean was a new life. Gregor and Yakov were gone. It was time to begin anew as George Fisher and Jacob Kay.

He inhaled as Gregor and exhaled as George. Then, he turned his back on the rising sun and went to go wake Jacob.


End file.
